


West

by blackeyedqueen



Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Gen, No Sex, sorry no one hooks up at all :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1849324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedqueen/pseuds/blackeyedqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam wouldn't call it running away. He calls it things like <i>relocating</i> or <i>finding himself</i>. But what he absolutely refuses to call it is running away."</p><p>Sam Winchester decides he needs some time to himself. Driving home from working late at the bar, he finds a furry friend. And his owner. </p><p>(Contrary to the what the title may lead you to believe, there's nothing western related in this fic, other than it takes place in California, US.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	West

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing about Sam and Will meeting thanks to Winston :). Anyone who happens to watch Teen Wolf, ignore the Beacon Hills part; this is potentially part of a longer series that could possibly later involve Teen Wolf characters, if I stick with it. No promises though! But I think this little bit is good as a stand alone, yeah? unbeta'd.

Sam wouldn't call it running away. He calls it things like _relocating_ or _finding himself_. But what he absolutely refuses to call it is running away. 

Sam said he needed to go west, would let Dean know when he got there. Of course, it wasn't easy.

"I just can't... Explain it, Dean!" He runs a shaky hand through his hair and takes a sharp inhale as Dean paces before him and looks something like kicked puppy who's also really pissed off.

"I just don't see why you need to go off by yourself to do this, Sam! It's supposed to be 'You and Me, Against the World.'"

And Sam sighs and fights back a tear because he knows that ten years ago, yeah it was. It still is. But Sam just needs to do this, and he needs to do this by himself, and he needs to know Dean's going to be okay while he does.

There's moisture in his hazel eyes and creases in his brow and Sam knows he must look like some sad, wounded animal, but he really can't help it. He just needs this, but he knows Dean won't actually understand. He just hopes he agrees to let him go.

And in the end he does. Dean resigns, pulls his little brother in for a hug, and breathes him in one more time before saying, "Alright, Sammy... Alright... Just... Let me know, okay?"

And Sam nods his head vehemently, a tear slipping through because separating for a while isn't easy, ever, for either of them, but he's so damn grateful Dean can let him go for now. 

Dean drinks and mutters and calls it running away and misses Sam. 

Sam drives and thinks and calls it finding himself and misses Dean. 

For some reason, it's necessary, Sam knows he needs this, but that's pretty much the only thing he knows.

 

West is where Sam's brain says they have to go, so he grips the wheel of his rusted s10 pick up and west is where he goes. He never really realized he would go _all the way west_ , to California, as west as one can go. He thinks for about ten minutes about Palo Alto and then decides he just fucking can't. And this town he's driving through now, it's not a bad substitute. This Beacon Hills. It's a good start.

Sam's not surprised he finds work in a bar. He always does. Bars aren't anyone's top priority for finding employment and sometimes they pay cash under the table and don't worry about social security numbers and forms of ID. Five nights a week, Sam does whatever they need for them—cook, clean, make drinks—and five nights a week Sam lays in bed and wonders what the fuck he's doing in California alone.

Sam helps clean up and close the bar one night, walks out into the muggy June air and opens the creaky door of his truck. The little blonde waitress/bar tender smiles and waves at him as she walks past, and Sam does the polite thing and automatically smiles and waves back. And then he heaves a sigh as he slides into his truck and closes his eyes to try to block out some of his pounding headache. He challenges anyone else to listen to her high pitched voice try to talk over top of the music at you _all night_.

He hears his cheap motel bed calling his name, puts the keys in the ignition and is soon enough headed to his temporary paradise (given no nightmares). He contemplates putting on some music, something quiet, just any kind of noise besides the sound of the truck's engine. Just as he lifts his right hand from the wheel, it's immediately right back where it belongs and he's putting on the brakes. 

And then there it is, some scruffy little mutt, trotting it's happy little butt on down the road as if people don't drive on it. But people do drive on roads, and hit oblivious dogs all the time, and Sam can't have that, can he?

The creak of the door as it opens gets the mutt's attention and he stops and turns to face the man. Sam crouches down, and holds his hand out, trying to get the dog closer to him.

“Hey... Come on, here, boy!”

The dog doesn't seem skittish in the slightest; it trots itself right on up to Sam, sniffs his hand and plops down right in front of him. It's not really what Sam expected, but anything that makes the job easier can't be too bad. He coaxes the little guy into his truck and lets his thoughts get just a little carried away as he thinks _maybe this won't be such a lonely experience_ , until he notices the dog's collar. He frowns, but decides the dog is still at least staying the night, to keep him off the road.

This doesn't turn out to be the only time Sam finds the little guy wandering down the road in the middle of the night. So Sam coaxes him into the truck, and at the hotel, Sam gives him a few scraps and a big bowl of water and the dog makes himself comfortable at the foot of Sam's bed. Then in the morning Sam lets him out and he runs off, probably to his home, if Sam had to guess. Sam doesn't mind sharing his bed every once in while. He actually kind of looks forward to it.

 

 

The night of Fourth of July, the owner has a hard time closing the bar at normal hours and Sam doesn't find himself on his way home until around 3:30 in the morning. And lo and behold, Sam sees a little furry butt scampering down the road. Sam wonders if the dog finds himself on this road every night, and it's just a coincidence when Sam happens to be on the road at the same time. 

Sam pulls over and opens the door, and the dog happily jumps up into his lap and moves over to the passenger side of the truck. Sam's dead tired when they get back to the motel, and apparently the little guy is too, because Sam just gets his boots and jeans off before they crawl into the bed and immediately fall asleep.

The next morning, the pair end up sleeping in later than normal, and they wake up to the sound of knocking on the door. Sam untangles himself from the blankets (he's not even sure why he's got them on him, it's pretty stuffy in the room and he's sweating a little through his t-shirt), and he stumbles to the door.

He opens it to find a man. A short man. Well, he supposes everyone's pretty short compared to him, perhaps this man is average height... Oh, and he's got this mop of curly hair and big round glasses and blue eyes. There's something about those eyes though... Sad, haunted. Sam automatically feels a twinge in his gut at the man's appearance; he looks put together enough, but Sam can tell it's only on the outside.

They don't say anything for a moment, and this doesn't occur to Sam until the man in front of him is saying, “Um...”

“Oh, uh, hi. Sorry, I kind of had a late night, so...” Sam tries to explain, blushing at the fact that he actually answered the door in his _boxers_. 

“Ah, well. Sorry. I just heard that you have my dog.”

Ah, right, of course! The dog's owner. Sam hears the little mutt whine behind him and he pushes the door open enough for him to trot over to his owner so he can happily pant and bask in the hands of the man rubbing all over his fur.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I usually let him out earlier, but we kind of slept in today...”

The man looks up at Sam and raises an eyebrow. “Usually?”

Ah. Shit. “Well, yeah, I-I just... See him on the road at night sometimes. Doesn't really seem right to leave him there.”

The man slowly nods his head in an “Oh?” kind of way. 

“Yeah, uh... Sorry.” Sam's not sure why he's apologizing, but the man's looking at him like he's over stepping his boundaries. Then he realizes he hadn't introduced himself and maybe the man might want to know the name of the guy housing his dog on random nights. “I'm Sam, by the way.”

"Well, thank you, Sam. I can take it from here,” the man says in a way that's incredibly insincere. 

“Hey, man, I was just trying to help him out. Didn't mean anything by it.”

“Of course,” the man says in that same tone, and turns from the door with the dog happily trotting along behind. “Goodbye, Sam.” 

“Yeah... See you around.”

 

 

Sam doesn't stop seeing the dog, and he doesn't stop giving the dog a place to stay at night, either. He usually sets himself an alarm to get them up early enough that he doesn't have to see the upset man again, but there is a rare occasion the bar keeps Sam out later than he prefers and he sleeps through his alarm (what's his life even coming to now that he sleeps through alarms?).

One morning, he regrettably pulls himself from the bed and to the door to see the shorter man, though less grumpy looking than normal (still, his damn eyes look so haunted though).

“I've just come to collect my dog, Mr. Winchester,” the man actually seems almost amused to be collecting his dog from a run down hotel on a Sunday morning.

Sam furrows his brow and clears his voice before his tired voice rasps out, “How'd you know m'name?”

“Well, most of your patrons from the bar are residents of this town. It wasn't very hard information to come by,” the man almost smirks this time. Almost.

“Hm.” Sam should have assumed a small town would talk about a new guy in town. “I'm guessing that's how you found out I had your dog to begin with. What else did you find out?”

The man thinks for a moment, tries to peak around Sam's broad body to get a look inside his room, it seems. “They say your a drifter. I don't think I'd disagree with them, either.” 

The man looks him in the eyes, almost like he's trying to figure out for himself, but it's not like it's something Sam's trying to hide. Not that he could try to hide it if he wanted to. He's a guy who's only been in this town for a few months, works at a bar, and lives in a motel, not taking any effort to find a more permanent residence (not like he could afford it anyway). So Sam simply holds up his hands and says, “You caught me,” offering a small smile. The man nods while he scratches behind the dog's ears. 

“Sorry he keeps ending up here,” Sam once again apologizes. “I know it must bug you to come out here and get him, but I can't just leave him on the road in the middle of the night.”

“I understand. It's pretty much how I found him. Wandering around. So I cleaned him up and took him in. Guess he still just likes to wander, though.”

“Yeah...” It's a concept that sounds familiar. Sam doesn't want to bring it up though.

“I was thinking... If he's going to keep ending up here, you should probably know his name.”

Sam huffs out a little laugh. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, we get along fine with 'Boy' and 'Buddy' but a real name always helps.”

The man smiles, almost genuine. “It's Winston,” he says.

Sam was expecting a name like Shaggy or something, though it's not like this name, Winston, doesn't fit him. “Winston,” Sam repeats.

“Yes. And I'm Will. I better get going. Goodbye, Sam Winchester,” the man, Will, bids goodbye and turns to leave with the dog happily following like he always does. 

“Bye, Will,” Sam says, though he's sure by the time he works the words out of his throat, the man's out of ear shot.

 

 

Another 3am ride home and Sam's wondering how much longer he's going to do this. Living in a motel and working in a bar isn't a permanent thing, and it doesn't necessarily feel permanent, except that Sam's been doing it for about 6 months now and it's starting to get to him. He almost calls Dean, almost, but he knows whatever he's out here to do, he hasn't done it yet. He's not ready. So he's just going to go back to his motel, crawl into bed, and get up in the morning to go to town and get groceries and crap. He wonders if there's anywhere in town that has a decent pie, too tired for the moment to remember Dean won't be there to eat it any time soon.

Pulling up to his motel pulls him out of his thoughts as he notices Winston waiting for him at his door.

“Hey, boy,” Sam greets, keeping his tone happy while actually being pretty confused; it's not like the dog to seek him out and wait for him.

Sam goes to open the door and the dog whines at him impatiently. “Alright, Winston, calm down. Here we go!” He swings the door open, but the dog doesn't go in. He just looks at Sam expectantly and whines. 

“What is it?” Sam's getting a little worried now; in the months since Winston's come into his life, he's never acted like this.

The dog prances around, and then prances over to the truck and whines some more.

“A ride?! No way dude, it's 3am. Probably almost 3:30. It's bed time, let's go,” He gestures into his room, again, but Winston isn't having it.

It's not long before the mutt's barking, looking back and forth between Sam and the truck. Sam decides this is definitely some Lassie shit and Winston's trying to tell him something, to get him somewhere. Sam automatically thinks of the dog's owner and his gut clenches. Will. What if something happened? What if he's hurt? 

Sam closes his door lets the dog in the truck and drives. As soon as he pulls out, Winston whines in the passenger seat, and after a moment Sam wonders if he made a wrong turn. Sure enough, he turns around and the whining stops. 

Sam keeps on along the road for ten minutes, and the site that greets him on the road startles him; it's not actually scary, or anything, but it's not normal to see a man walking on the road in his bare feet and boxers in the middle of the night. Will, the dog's owner, to be exact. 

Sam knew that Will seemed like he was dealing with his own personal issues, but sleepwalking wasn't exactly something he expected. He's not really sure how to approach the man. 

He pulls over and opens the door, Winston practically jumping over him and running to catch up with his owner. Will's not walking particularly fast, so Sam doesn't have a problem catching up with him, but once he gets there, he's not sure how to proceed. He starts by calling out.

“Will?” He calls, and gets no response. “Hey? Will?” He says louder and still nothing.

Sam reaches out a tentative hand to lay on the man's arm. He makes contact, but there still no change. He's still calling out Will's name, gripping his arm, but he keeps walking on, slowly.

Finally, Sam gets himself in front of will, with both hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Hey, Will, Come on, man, you need to wake up now.”

That seems to work. Will doesn't jerk awake or anything; his eyes just seem to focus and he takes in a sharp inhale. He looks around a little before looking at the tall man in front of him. “...Sam?” he questions.

“The one and only,” Sam catches himself saying, something Dean would say, but he can't think of Dean right now. He needs to get Will home. “Come on, in the truck. Let's get you home. Luckily, Winston's pretty good with directions, huh?” Okay, so Sam's rambling a little, but he was hoping to leave all the weird stuff on the road with Dean. And this experience, while not supernatural, is nothing short of weird. So he can't help but talking to try to get this weird feeling out of his gut.

Will looks at him like he doesn't understand what he's saying, and he probably doesn't, why would a dog be good with directions? So Sam just tries to offer a comforting smile before he closes the passenger door of the truck.

Sam climbs in the driver side, with Winston in the middle. Sam starts driving in the opposite direction, and Winston doesn't whine, so Sam takes that as a good thing.

Just as he was thinking Will fell asleep, he pipes up from the passenger seat when they reach a crossroads and simply says “left”.

Will manages to point out his house, but Sam's reluctant to drop him off. He doesn't want to leave him alone, which is an odd feeling. Will's a grown man, and Sam's sure he can handle himself. But as Will opens the truck door, Sam can't stop the words coming out of his mouth. “Hey... You sure you're alright?”

He bites off any offers to stay with him and make sure he's okay, knowing it's creepy, that the two of them know nothing about each other. He can feel his eyebrows drawn in, and knows he's probably conveying some look of worry and concern.  
“I'm fine. I promise. Thanks for the ride... Goodnight.”

Will slides out and Winston follows. Sam stays in the driveway longer than he probably should after Will closes the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said,I'll potentially add more (at least of Sam and Will. Maybe!) :). We'll see!


End file.
